


Enigma

by deebainwonderland



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 4+1, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sexual Harassment, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28471215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deebainwonderland/pseuds/deebainwonderland
Summary: Four times Jaskier upturned Geralt’s whole world with a gentle touch, and one time Geralt reached out first.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 343





	Enigma

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Contains non-explicit scene of unwanted sexual advances and harassment.

i.

Jaskier is an enigma. An infuriating, confounding, bloody annoying enigma. 

At first, he greeted the bard’s admiration of him with open suspicion. Other nameless companions had come and quickly gone over the years. They were always armed with a responsible excuse if they bothered to stick around long enough to give one. Witchers attracted too much danger and attention. Geralt was too cold and rough. He was a monster blazing a path of blood and gore straight down to hell.

Perfectly reasonable. 

But this bard, this infuriating cheerful bard, seemed unfazed by the chaos that came with staying by a Witcher’s side. In fact, it appeared to thrill him, and he funneled their increasingly wild adventures into suspiciously upbeat songs, painting Geralt not as a beast, but as something heroic. Someone to be admired. 

It confused Geralt to no end. He kept waiting for Jaskier to come to his senses and vanish in the middle of the night like a wisp of air. Surely the wickedness and strangeness of remaining by his side would become too much. It was only a matter of time. 

Geralt sat on the creaky bed on the far side of the room, glaring over to Jaskier as the bard merrily counted his coins. It had been a good night. Word was beginning to spread about the bard who sang detailed stories about the exploits of the mighty Witcher. People began to recognize Jaskier’s name and would clamor for his work, welcoming him as an honored guest. Jaskier, of course, was eating it all up.

Tonight Jaskier had completed two separate encores, face flushed with exertion and pleasure as he danced around the room. 

The Witcher’s eyes slid down to his clasped hands in his lap. They must be reaching the end of their partnership. Jaskier was beginning to witness the darker side of Geralt’s escapades. It was easy to sing about the heroics, the battles, and the flaming exhilaration of a successful hunt.

But not even the bard could ignore reality forever. Just last week Jaskier had gasped dramatically when he saw Geralt’s white hair dripping with dark red blood. He’d taken an involuntary step forward and actually expressed concern for the Witcher. 

Geralt had only grunted and raised one shoulder in response. Perhaps Jaskier had been worried that Geralt would not be able to protect him if the creature returned. That must have been it. 

“Geralt?”

The Witcher’s eye flitted up. The bard stood only a step away _when had he moved across the room?_ and was watching him with apparent concern. 

Not bothering to waste words on a response, Geralt simply cocked his head in question. 

Jaskier, suddenly uncharacteristically shy, wrung his hands together for a long moment before speaking. “You know, you, uh, you can tell me not to if you want. I’d stop if you wanted me to.”

“What?” Geralt asked dumbly. He had a necessary habit of tuning out the bard’s incessant chattering, but he was fairly sure that they weren’t in the middle of a conversation he’d missed the entire beginning of.

Jaskier gave him a little smile, and Geralt had to fight the urge to jerk back. He’d never before seen a smile cross Jaskier’s face that didn’t brighten up his eyes with pleasure. 

“The music,” Jaskier continued gently, smiling as though he had to physically shove his upturned lips into place. “All the songs about you. I know I’ve pretty much butted into your life without permission, but I would stop. I’d stop singing about you if you asked.” 

Geralt froze on the bed, mind turning the statement over and over, trying to discern hidden meaning. Jaskier was giving him a choice? Hadn’t he just been using the Witcher all this time? Wasn’t that all Geralt was?

A morbid, thrilling muse? 

He didn’t need the help to build his reputation, his work did that well enough. Trying to humanize a Witcher was truly a foolish endeavor, one the bard was bound to discover as hopeless eventually. The songs were annoying to be sure, flaunting Geralt in a way that made him want to flush with shame.

Still. The bard wasn’t always such terrible company. And with nights like tonight, he was more than contributing to their bizarre intertwined life.

“I don’t,” Geralt had to pause to swallow the bile threatening to crawl up his throat. “I don’t mind it.”

A new smile bloomed across Jaskier’s face, this time wrinkling his eyes up at the edges. “Wonderful! That’s good then. I’ll have you know that I would be quite devastatingly morose if I needed to have to search out a new muse. But well--.”

The bard shifted forward, covering that one foot of space between the pair. He brought an achingly gentle hand down on the Witcher’s shoulder, giving him a firm pat. “I just wanted to make sure you knew. The offer always stands, in case you ever change your mind.” 

With a final pat, Jaskier turned back to his own bed, settling down to once again shift through his night’s earnings.

Geralt sat perfectly still, barely able to breathe as his shoulder burned. 

\----------------

ii.

“I said come here, Witcher! Don’t make me come over there.”

Geralt raised one perfectly unimpressed eyebrow. “I said I’m fine.”

Jaskier huffed, placing his prized hands on thin hips, glaring across the rocky shore at his companion. He stood in a few inches of water, enjoying the sensation of the river rushing in between his toes. “And I said that it’s pretty hard to convince someone you’re fine with literal blood dripping off you.”

“It’s not even my blood!” Geralt retorted, eying his rolled out mat with consideration. 

“Ahh!” Jaskier cried, pointing a defiant finger at him. “Don’t even think about going to sleep like that. I’m going to be smelling old blood all night. Over here, march Witcher."

Gods above, how had this become Geralt’s life? Still, he knew the bard could be far too stubborn when he set his mind to it. It was generally easier to just go along with his whims.

With a long-suffering sigh, Geralt trudged over the riverbank and sat on the stone Jaskier pointed to. 

“Honestly,” Jaskier huffed, reaching out to pluck dubiously at a dark red-stained strand of hair. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I can think of a few suggestions,” Geralt said. He reminded himself forcefully for the umpteenth time not to lean into the touch. “All of which involve you leaving me alone to sleep.”

Jaskier bent down and used the pail in his hands to scoop up a bucketful of water. “Why, my dear Witcher, I do think you should know me better than that by now.”

 _I do_ , Geralt thought sourly. That’s the problem. He spluttered as the first pail of water was upturned over his head. 

Still, Jaskier’s fingers were gentle, always so gentle, as they worked down the clumped strands of his hair. It did feel quite nice to have the stickiness peeled away. For a few moments, Geralt allowed himself to relax and let the tension in his shoulders begin to wash away with the blood. He was just so tired. Surely the bard would not use a few moments of weakness against him.

When had he begun to trust Jaskier so much? Why was this annoying lute-carrying man to be the first being in decades to treat him like--

“You need to take care of yourself, Geralt,” said the quiet voice over him. “Otherwise, you’ll make me worry.”

Geralt didn’t respond, too focused on the feeling of docile fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. 

\----------------

iii.

A hand thumped against his back. “Geralt, are you awake?”

“Yes,” the Witcher grunted, not even bothering to lift his head. “Lucky for you. You should know better than to try and surprise me, bard. I could have taken your arm off.”

The hand on his back paused before the fingers began to drum along his spine. Geralt shivered, the gentle touch freezing him still as effectively as a binding curse. 

“I know, but I heard something.”

Geralt sighed and forced himself to move, shifting onto his back as Jaskier’s fingers fell away. “Wolves, you’ve been hearing wolves. There’s a pack nearby.”

Jaskier sat back on his heels, eyes flitting back and forth around them as though he expected a rabid animal to come barreling out of the darkness at any moment. “Yes, and shouldn’t we be worried about that?”

Snorting a laugh, Geralt waved a hand in the air, finally turning to glance up at his companion. The bard certainly looked uneasy, face flushed and dark circles ringing his eyes. “I fight literal monsters all the time, Jaskier. Do you really think I’m concerned about a pack of ordinary wolves?”

A moment of tense silence and then-

“Ha,” Jaskier said, sounding very unlike himself. “Ha. Ha. You’re absolutely right, don’t know what I was thinking. Sorry, Geralt, this was silly, you should go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Geralt reminded him, now feeling vaguely concerned. He’d never seen the bard like this, twitchy and unsure about himself. Normally, Jaskier relished in the knowledge that he traveled with a famed and powerful Witcher. He was more the type to outwardly brag about his prime spot of safety in this ever-darkening, unwelcoming world. 

He would never admit it, but Geralt took some pride in knowing his companion trusted him to take care of the pair. Jaskier did things like washing the blood out of Geralt’s hair after a hunt and collecting new ingredients from town to try out recipes. Jaskier took care of them in the little everyday things, and Geralt was the protector. 

It worked for them.

This side of Jaskier was new, and Geralt felt unease crawl up his back, stinging along the same line Jaskier’s fingers had traced moments before. 

“Right,” Jaskier said, brightness obviously feigned. He walked the few steps back to his pallet, settling down and facing away. “Well, try to get some sleep then. We’ve got a long way ahead of us.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, entirely unsure of what to say to him but feeling the infuriating need to try something, anything, to make the bard stop sounding like a stranger.

Jaskier waved one hand in the air as if to push away the Witcher’s concern. “Nothing, Geralt. Just a strange dream. I’ll be perfectly fine in the morning.”

With that, he pulled the thin blanket over him and fell into a strained silence.

Geralt didn’t sleep at all that night. 

\----------------

iv.

“Geralt! Have I ever told you that you’re the best thing that has everrrrrrrr happened to me? So wonderful to have met you, telling your adventures has been, hic, getting me so much coin. And rightly so with how splendid they are!”

The Witcher grunted, walking a careful step behind his partner. “Enough coin to get you thoroughly drunk apparently."

Jaskier swung to a jerking stop, throwing his hands up in the air and spinning in an uncoordinated circle. “So much drunk! I’m just happy, you know! Nothing wrong with being happy, Geralt. You should, hic, give it a shot.”

“I think you’re happy enough for the both of us,” Geralt replied, unable to resist the soft warm feeling building up in his chest. He tried not to think too much of it. The bard was amusing, that was all. 

Certainly not endearing. Absolutely not. 

The bard spun on his heel and pranced back to his companion’s side. Geralt eyed him suspiciously, not convinced he wouldn’t fall flat on his face. 

At least that would be a good laugh. And then Geralt would have an excuse to take his hand to drag him back up. 

_Wait what?_

Jaskier staggered into his side, reaching out of his own accord. His fingers wrapped around Geralt’s wrist as he attempted to steady himself.

Suddenly flushed with an emotion he didn’t quite have a name for, Geralt strode off again. Jaskier’s grip on his wrist tightened as he whined about the Witcher’s utter lack of common decency. 

“We’re friends now, Geralt,” he cried woefully. “A least, hic, close enough! You should be nicer to me.”

“You’re the only person I am nice too,” Geralt grumbled, slowing down a little to allow the other man to stumble into him. 

Jaskier giggled, cheer restored as quickly as it had fled. He pressed against Geralt’s side as he attempted to regain balance. “I know, you’re the best!”

Grunting a vague affirmative, Geralt reached to take gentle hold of the bard’s elbow, leading him back down the pathway. 

\----------------

v.

Jaskier was uncomfortable. 

It was clear from the way his shoulders hunched up to his ears, and how his back pressed back against the bar ledge just a tad too forcefully. He was covering it well, an easy smile plastered on his face, but the Witcher didn’t miss how he was holding his lute out in front of his chest, as though his beloved musical instrument could act as an impenetrable shield. 

For a bard who was all laughter and childish excitement, it was rather disconcerting to see him clearly trying to extricate himself from one of the social interactions he seemed to usually love. Jaskier was a people person if Geralt had ever seen one, which made the scene before him all the more disturbing. 

The man was leaning over the bard, a little too old and far too drunk to be showing such interest. Geralt could smell his intentions from across the room. Not that it was unusual for someone to see Jaskier and want him. The man walked around with sunshine in his heart, who wouldn’t want a piece of that gold? 

And Jaskier himself delighted in any love brought before him. He held no qualms about anything trivial like gender or profession. Even marital status was waylaid in the name of passion. 

But it had been a long day of travel after an excruciating hunt. They were both exhausted, and Geralt knew the bard was in no mood for company. 

This man, however, did not seem able to pick up on any of Jaskier’s obvious signs. The bard was literally scooting slowly around the man to try and get by but the infuriating fool simply moved with him, leaning-in to leer. 

Apparently, that was the last straw for the bard. Jaskier stood tall, drawing himself up and narrowing his eyes. He spoke sharply to his aggressor before turning on his heel and attempted to shoulder past. 

Geralt was long accustomed to seeing faces painted with rage, and this man held no beauty with his ire. Drunk as he was, he lurched forward sloppily and reached out a rough hand to the bard.

The Witcher wasn’t even aware of moving but in the next moment, he was clear across the bar with his hand circling the ugly man’s wrist like a viper. It was mere inches from Jaskier’s hair as the bard spun to look up at the grasping hand. His eyes flitted over to him, and Geralt was surprised to see actual fear swimming in his dark irises. 

His annoyance at the man’s presumption turned instantly to rigorous rage. “I do believe my friend has made it quite clear he isn’t interested.” 

The man spluttered, trying to yank his hand back, but the Witcher held firm. “Who do you think you are? Go mind your own business, I’ve already claimed this bird for the night!”

Later, Geralt would look back on this moment and worry about his lack of restraint. Most all of, he would be troubled about his inability to remember any actual decisions made about his actions. It was as though his mind disconnected from his limbs, and they moved of their own vicious accord.

All the Witcher knew was one moment the vile man was in his face, laying claim to a being he didn’t even deserve to look at, and the next he was spread eagle on the floor, blood flowing freeing down his chin and throat from his crushed nose. 

Geralt grasped behind himself without even looking. His hand met thin cloth material and he gently pulled. Jaskier stumbled a step forward and then he was underneath Geralt’s arm, tucked safely where no other would dare touch him. His fingers slid up until they wrapped ever so lightly around the bard’s throat. He took a moment to feel Jaskier’s heartbeat beneath his touch. 

Odd. Jaskier's heartbeat seemed to have already calmed.

The Witcher turned back to the man on the floor, ignoring the gawking stares from all the other bar patrons. The man was writhing, hand clamped tightly on his nose. “You’ll regret that,” he cried, words garbled like a child’s. “I’m very important in this town! You can’t do that to me, there will be consequences!”

Snorting his derision, Geralt aimed a kick to the man’s side. “If your consequences feel up to the task of taking on a Witcher then by all means. They’ll know where to find me.”

With that, Geralt tucked Jaskier even further into his hold and led him silently up to their room. To Geralt’s grim satisfaction, the crowd of people parted like the sea before them. Jaskier’s popular songs sometimes painted him a bit too soft, a bit too human. Better that people have a real reminder of who walked among them. 

Jaskier was silent on their trek up, pressing himself rather hesitantly against Geralt’s side. Perhaps he should let go of him. The danger was passed. But the bard felt so warm underneath his arm and he fit so perfectly with his head back against his shoulder. 

_Let go_ , Geralt told himself sternly. His fingers refused to listen. 

When they reached their room, Geralt deposited Jaskier on his bed, suddenly feeling a bit awkward as he gazed down at the bard. Perhaps he shouldn’t have interfered. Was Jaskier angry with him? Had he crossed some sort of invisible line he’d never known existed? 

What if this was it, what if this was what finally drove Jaskier away? Finally knocked some sense back into his head?

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked softly because even if the bard was furious at him, he still had to make sure.

The quiet words breaking the silence shook Jaskier out of his stupor. He gazed up at Geralt as if just seeing him and gave the Witcher such a gentle smile that all his fear fled, leaving relief in its wake. 

“I’m fine, Geralt. Thank you for stepping in,” he said, fiddling with his fingers. “That man was quite out of line.”

Geralt sat down on the bed, careful to keep a respectful distance. His fingers began to ache with the need to set upon Jaskier’s skin again, but he pushed the selfish impulse down. 

“It was no matter. He got what he deserved.”

Jaskier let out a little laugh, drawing his legs up onto the bed. “He did, didn’t he? Terribly unattractive not to take no for an answer.” 

Hot anger surged through Geralt once again, leaving him breathless. He reached out and grasped Jaskier’s legs, spinning him around and drawing them into his lap to yank the bard closer. He took Jaskier's hand in his own, marveling at how small they felt. How breakable.

The bard’s brilliant grey eyes stared into his own, mere breaths away. Jaskier’s hand had instinctively reached out to grasp his as they were very suddenly in each other’s space. 

“It’s not unattractive, Jaskier,” he said seriously, his own thumbs unconsciously rubbing over the bard’s knuckles. “It’s wrong and disgusting and evil and no one deserves that.” 

Jaskier stared at him for a long moment, and Geralt felt frozen. Finally, the bard smiled a little sadly. 

“You’re right, of course. It's an easy thing to make excuses after a while.” Jaskier nodded firmly, shaking himself a little. “I must remember that. Excusing it will only encourage it and that’s no good for anyone.”

The pair stayed silent for a few moments while Jaskier closed his eyes and took a few deep calming breaths. 

When he opened his eyes again, their familiar gleam of mischief had returned. “You know, Geralt, I think this is the first time you’ve been touchy with me. Talk about a turnaround!”

Guilt slammed into Geralt’s chest. What was he doing? He was taking advantage, wasn’t he?

Releasing Jaskier’s hand as though burned, Geralt shuffled backward, trying to give the bard space.

Jaskier simply laughed and pulled him back. “Oh no, sour wolf, this is some serious personal growth. I’m not letting it slip past.”

His gaze turned serious as he took in the shattered expression painted on the Witcher’s face, the way he hunched into himself and tugged deliberately to get away. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier and his voice was so very warm, unlike anything the Witcher had ever heard before. He stopped struggling but remained poised to flee. “You’re my friend, Geralt,” Jaskier continued softly. “You even said it yourself so no take-backs! I choose to be your companion. I choose it every day.” 

Jaskier brought Geralt’s hand back up to his throat, gently placing his fingers against cool skin. “You’re allowed to touch me like this. Honestly, I think it would be right as rain if you touched me any way you like! You’re a sweet wolf to worry so, but I’ve been saying yes to you for years.” 

His cheeky grin, the one that always made Geralt’s heart skip a beat, spread across his face. “It’ll always be a yes for you, Geralt.”

The Witcher sat in stunned silence for a long moment, trying to take in all the implications the bard could possibly mean. Jaskier just kept smiling patiently at him, as his own fingers danced across the back of Geralt’s hand. 

Geralt slid his hand up to cup Jaskier’s face. The bard sighed happily and tilted into his touch, turning to nuzzle against his hand.

“Careful, bard,” Geralt whispered, voice cracking with stilted emotion. “Or I may take you up on that offer.”

Jaskier wiggled cutely, eyes shining with happiness and mirth. “Please, Geralt.”

Perhaps Jaskier had always been the braver of the pair, wearing his heart out on his sleeve for all to see. Taking a Witcher’s hand when none other dared to touch. Really, what was Geralt to do with him?

“Little minx,” he snarled, hauling the bard into his lap. The kiss only lasted a few moments before Jaskier was giggling against his lips, hands smoothing through his hair.

“Yes, yes, Geralt,” he pulled back to gasp. 

“Yes, what?” Geralt asked, turning to press burning kisses to his bard’s throat. Gods, how good it felt to touch. His skin tasted like melting honey, and the Witcher knew he could do this each and every night, forever, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Jaskier pulled on his hair to guide his mouth back up to his own. 

“Yes, anything, everything. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudo and/or comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
